Sleepovers
by JETPlayin
Summary: Due to an unforeseen, but totally foreseeable, Gryffindor savior's hero complex, Draco is forced to endure a sleepover, dog hair (and possible other genetic material) and niceties that are completely wasted on ill-mannered wizards.


"I'm not taking your bed, Potter!"

"Damn it Draco, you're my guest, just take the bed!"

"Why would I want to sleep in that-" Draco gestured vaguely in the direction of Potter's bedroom. "That mess? I'd rather sleep with that crotchety old house-elf!"

Okay, so that might be taking it a little too far, but Draco refused to care. This isn't what he asked for. Just because he was worried that the threats were getting a little too specific. Just because someone managed to get a Howler past his wards a few days ago. Just because that happened at three o'clock in the morning, disrupting his already fitful sleep… Really, none of that warranted this little "sleepover" at Grimmauld Place. And he'd be damned it he'd let Potter make him feel guilty for his favour. To emphasise that point, he crossed his arms and lifted his chin in an effort to look down his nose at the Auror in spite of their height difference.

"Mess? You've never even seen my-"

"What else would your bedroom be?" Draco muttered, petulantly.

Potter pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing his glasses down. "Draco just - You know what? Fine." He glared over the rim of the glasses, now riding low on his nose, then turned, waving a hand behind him dismissively as he made his way up the stairs. "Take the couch. I don't fucking care. Don't mind the dog hair, it hasn't been cleaned since Sirius lived here." He paused thoughtfully. "Now that I think of it, Remus probably left some hair on it, too, when they-"

"Fine!" Draco cut him off, shooting a disgusted glance at the sofa (dog hair? Wait, when they what?!) before jogging up the stairs to push past him. "Fine, Potter. Merlin, you're a bastard. Enjoy the dog hair!"

A smug smile spread across Potter's face for a moment before freezing in place.

"Er, wait, actually… I mean, that thing really is…" He scrubbed a hand through his rat's nest before letting it rest on the back of his neck, eyes shifting sheepishly around the corridor. "And, you know, it is a pretty big bed…"

Draco scoffed. "I doubt a bed exists that's big enough for us to share." He sneered, gesturing between them. "Isn't it enough that we have to sleep in the same house?"

"Hey, it's not my fault you didn't want stay with Ron."

"Yes, well," Draco sniffed, aiming for haughty. "Weasley and I can't coexist on the same street, let alone in the same-"

"And," Potter added, stepping closer, eyes narrowing. "It didn't seem like such a bad idea, last night."

Draco swallowed, willing his voice to remain steady.

"I was drunk, Pott-"

"Hardly," he chuckled. He was even closer, somehow, caging Draco mere centimetres from the bedroom door and safety. "You sat at that bar with one drink for an hour before you came stumbl-"

"I needed your help… " The argument sounded weak, rehearsed. It was, of course, but it wasn't supposed to sound like it. And, apparently, Potter wasn't buying it.

"That must have hurt," he quipped, cocking his head with a grin. "Only, I don't think that was just you needing help… Hell, you were-"

"What's your point?" Draco whined. He couldn't help it. Potter's heat was burning him, his voice, lowering as he leaned closer, was too much. Too suggestive, too interested, too-

"My point," he whispered, stepping still closer, until the wall was pressed to Draco's back, Potter flush against his front, leaving no room to back away further. "We're going to be here for a while, I've got that big bed," he tipped his head forward an inch, breathing heavily into Draco's ear, "and I'll be damned if all we do in it is sleep."

Potter's knee was nudging Draco's thighs apart, effectively removing the very last of the distance between them, not to mention coherent thought, and Draco let his head drop against the wall. The sensations, Potter's warm thigh trapping his cock, big hands holding his hips in place, were overwhelming, overpowering. Distantly, Draco realised he was panting and wondered when that started.

"I suppose I could be, ah, convinced to-" he gasped when Potter lowered his head, sniggering, to nip at the pulse point fluttering in his throat. "Re-reconsider the…. um…"

Potter pulled back, circling Draco's wrist with rough fingers. "Good," he growled before crushing his lips over Draco's.

With a whimper, Draco allowed himself to be dragged into the bedroom. The size of the bed, forgotten until Potter lifted him by his hips to toss him into the lake of blankets and pillows, is quite acceptable, he decided. He took a moment, even, to be thankful for the size since it meant there was no threat of Potter miscalculating and landing him on his arse on the other side, before locking his eyes on Potter again. His shirt was hanging open, his fingers working on the zip of his trousers. But his eyes, darkened to the color of the canopy deep in a forest, were raking over Draco's form.

When the stiff material finally fell, Draco released the breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding and let his gaze fall with it. Over the broad shoulders, the bronzed skin that stretched across coiled muscles, to the dark hair trailing into pants, clearly painted onto the trim waist and sturdy thighs.

"You're drooling." The amusement, while evident, didn't mask the arousal thickening his voice and Draco snapped his eyes back to Potter's face,making an effort to close his slackened jaw.

Shaking himself, mentally, Draco reached for some composure, some fucking balance. "What can I say?" he shrugged, a jerky, one armed thing that had Potter laughing, again. Giving in to the admission, Draco scowled. "What? I'm supposed to stare down the wizarding world's number one wet dream with any kind of poise?"

Potter grinned and dropped his weight forward, latching onto Draco's throat again, and fumbling with the clasp of his robes. "Glad to see you're coming around."

"Let me make this clear, Potter," Draco gasped, hands scrambling for purchase in the tangle of bedclothes. "I'm not one of your simpering fans."

"I don't know, Draco, looks like you're simpering, to me." With a grunt, he pulled Draco's trousers and pants halfway down his thighs. "You're fucking trembling. " What does he expect when his hand closes around Draco's cock like that?

Seeking a level playing field, Draco reared up, catching Potter's mouth in something resembling a kiss, and pushed him until their positions were reversed. Potter let him, obviously, and tossed his arms up to prop under his head, angling for a better view. On his knees, Draco pushed his restrictive clothing down further before kicking them off, entirely, and straddling Potter where he lay sprawled across the bed. His hands, so much paler against the darker background of Potter's skin, slid firmly over the muscles, paused to tweak nipples until they were straining and Potter was arching under him.

Leaning forward, he closed his mouth around the corded muscles on Potter's throat, sinking in his teeth briefly before swiping at the spot with his tongue. Potter's hands came around, finally, to rest on Draco's arse, squeezing and releasing, molding the globes and pulling Draco's cock hard against his own.

"Holy fuck," Draco moaned, releasing Potter's throat to grind back against him.

"Too many fucking-" Potter muttered, grasping at the robes still bunched around Draco's hips.

Draco lifted his arms to help him drag the offending fabric over his head before flattening himself out again to slide his skin against Potter's. Once started, he didn't stop, sliding down Potter's body, licking and nipping at the heated flesh, drinking in the sounds that escaped him when Draco reached his target.

Nuzzling at the hard flesh through the cotton pants, he hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged, laughing when Potter's flushed cock slapped gently against his face as it sprang free. Potter's hand on his head, fingers slipping between the strands of his hair and loosening his stubby ponytail, drew his attention and he wrapped the slender fingers of one hand around the base, flicking a sly smile up to him.

"Eager, are we?"

"Fuck, Malfoy, if you don't -" but Draco already was, so Potter dropped his head with a groan, fist tightening in Draco's hair as he swiped his tongue over the head, slipping in under the stretched foreskin, before engulfing it entirely. "Jesus fucking Christ!"

Draco pondered that for a moment. Muggle-borns used the term, frequently, but he had no actual idea what it meant. It seemed to be used as a swear word, similarly to "Merlin," but that didn't really-

Potter's hand tightened almost painfully and Draco shook the thoughts away. What was he thinking? Potter's cock was in his mouth, leaking onto his tonsils, and he was philosophising semantics? With renewed focus, he applied himself to his task, swirling his tongue around the shaft, pulling away until his lips rested on the very tip before plunging back down until he could feel the blunt head just barely breaching his throat. And then, doing it all again.

Before long, Potter was pulling his head away and hauling him against himself for another kiss, rolling them easily until Draco was molded to the mattress beneath him.

"God, Draco," he rasped, scraping his barely-there beard against Draco's jaw, neck, chest. "I knew, I fucking knew you would be amazing."

Draco jolted. Potter thought about this? About him?

Propping himself on his elbows, he watched that dark tangle of hair dip as Potter bit and kissed and scraped along his hip, his cock, the junction between his groin and thigh. With a shudder, he flopped back when Potter lifted his leg, exposing Draco to his view.

"You're perfect," he muttered, breath hot against the sensitive skin between Draco's arse cheeks. "Fucking gorgeous."

And then, Draco was arching his back, groaning wantonly as a wide, hot, wet, stripe trailed over his entrance. And then, again. And again, until Draco thought he would weep. At which point, of fucking course, Potter plunged that wicked tongue as deep as he could, bending Draco's pliant body into the air for a better angle and a sob ripped from Draco's throat. Had thought been possible, he might have cursed Potter for drawing such reactions from him. As it was, he couldn't force out a curse until, because, Potter was pulling away.

"What the fuck, Po- Oh, fuck!"

Potter was chuckling, again, rotating the slick finger that had replaced his tongue before withdrawing it to add another.

Draco was begging, fuck, yes, more, please! but he couldn't care. And when Potter finally covered him, again, stretching out over his limp form, it was all Draco could do to sling his arms over those broad shoulders and return the kiss as Potter pushed into him in one, swift, determined stroke.

Tearing his mouth away, Potter panted into his hair, grunting. "Simpering yet, Malfoy?"

"Fuck, Potter, please-"

"I am," he laughed, pulling out and driving back in to prove it. "God, so fucking tight!"

Any more words either dissolved unspoken or hung unheard as Potter set a punishing pace, slamming into him, again and again, rocking the bed with the force of his thrusts. As Draco alternated between clinging, flailing, and sagging into the mattress.

Draco was vaguely aware of his building orgasm and hooked his legs around Potter's waist, desperate to take the other man with him when he crashed over that jagged edge. He flexed his muscles, clenching, gripping Potter tighter and thrilled when he cried out, his rhythm stuttering. He held tighter to Draco, reaching blindly for a kiss and Draco met him halfway, moaning into his mouth when he came and swallowing Potter's shout when he followed, moments later.

Ragged, gasping breaths echoed in the sudden silence as Potter collapsed, his chest pressing fully against Draco's again. His weight forced too much of the air from Draco's lungs, but he didn't care. He tightened his legs around his waist, locking his ankles to hold him there, and slid his arms over broad shoulders, toying lazily with the soft hair at the nape of Potter's neck. A smile stretched his lips, one he couldn't stop if he'd bothered trying.

After a bit, Potter hummed, shifting only to find himself anchored to the bed. Turning his head to blink blearily at Draco, he opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it on a tired smile.

"Hi," he finally managed.

Laughing, Draco craned his neck back so he could see better. "Hi, yourself."

Potter cocked his head, a slight frown crinkling his brow. "You look awfully pleased…"

"Do I?" Draco tried to scowl but was pretty sure it came out as a grin. "Hmm, what do you know, I am a little pleased."

With a laugh, Potter reached up to disentangle himself, groaned when he met with resistance. "Alright, I gotta piss, let me up."

The grin turned mischievous and Draco tightened his grip. "Huh-uh," he shook his head, playfully. "Not until you admit that I do not, nor ever have... simpered."

Draco squealed when Potter rolled them to their sides and dug his fingers mercilessly into Draco's ribs with a shouted "Never surrender!"

Okay, so maybe sleepovers weren't so bad.


End file.
